Stood Up
by C. Nichole
Summary: How far would you go to atone for your sins? Tifa finds a recalcitrant Vincent at the bottom of the Shinra mansion and decides to prove to him that everyone deserves a second chance. Rated for language.
1. And there are two of us

_We are not frightened anymore, _

_We stood up, we stood up._

…_We can blame a change of mind,_

_A seismic shift in times._

_They told us not to fight, _

_But we'll fight it 'till we die._

_A Fine Frenzy, Stood up._

_

* * *

_

"Shouldn't we do something more? It can't be healthy living in a coffin like that," I say, between heavy breaths.

The air is stale and dusty and I'm trying hard to keep the debris out of my lungs- though our speed and the frequency of our encounters with monsters isn't helping much.

We're practically running out of the mansion by this point, quickly jogging up the dark, damp, spiral staircase. Lucky for us, the old generator out back still runs- for some unknown reason, so the mansion isn't completely consumed with darkness.

It's just Cloud and I, the rest of the group has bunkered down at the motel for the evening. Cloud, however, couldn't leave the mansion alone- needed a go at it before we moved on to Mount Nibel in the morning.

"Sorry, Tifa. You can't save everyone-sometimes they don't _want_ to be saved," Cloud says to me, as if it's a profound revelation.

"Look," I say, while grabbing hold of his bicep, trying to get him to pay attention to anything other than his single-minded desire to find Sephiroth.

"'Look' what, Tifa?" I pull my hand back and take a moment, trying to think of the right words.

I crack my knuckles before beginning- a nervous habit: "Look- we didn't even really do anything to help. All we did was try and guilt him into a fight that isn't his."

"Isn't his?" Cloud halts his step suddenly and I trip over myself to keep from falling into his chest. Stopping directly in front of me, he looks less than impressed; apparently I have his attention now.

"Teef, the guy admitted to pretty much aiding Hojo in his Sephiroth experiment."

"No," I say, annoyed that the man's words were twisted inside of Cloud's mind; _honestly, did you hear what he said? _

"He said he couldn't stop it from happening, not that he did it."

"Same thing, Tifa."

"Right, and us blowing up a reactor and Shinra blowing up the plate support for the slums, is the same thing?"

His face crunches up like it always does when he's confronted with a truth he'd rather not think about. It's happening more and more- the longer we stay here; the more we find out, the more it happens.

"We're the good guys, Tifa," he says, as if that alone makes it right. As if that alone makes it true.

"And maybe, so is he," I return, "the least we could have done was get his name," I add as an after-thought.

"What does it matter, Tifa? It's just one more name in the list of people we've come across and left behind. You know, probably better than anyone, just how important it is to stop Sephiroth- to stop Shinra. Stop them from hurting more people like they hurt us."

It's a low blow, bringing up the old Nibelheim like that. Like I can't see what Shinra's obviously done to the town- stamped out the past, erased the horrors, the deaths- made it all go away.

It's not subtle, but he's never been like that. Might as well just come out and said what he was really thinking: the man in the coffin is probably not useful to our cause, so why worry about him?

"You don't need to question my resolve, Cloud. I lost a parent that day, too."

_That day…do you really remember it, Cloud? Because what you seem to think and what I actually remember…just don't add up._

But I keep silent. I'm doing more and more of that, these days. Keeping silent, keeping still, keeping the peace- hiding the truth, but what is the truth anymore?

For me, the truth is I lost almost everything here once and I'm not looking for a repeat performance. This man in the coffin seems like he lost everything here once, too.

Difference is; I got a second chance. My sensei…my friends in Midgar…Cloud. I was given a second chance by people who cared.

Did this man have a second chance? Are we it?

Or am I just trying to save someone else in place of the others I couldn't.

…_Jessie…Biggs…Wedge…Dad… _I shiver at the memory of them, at the memory of their loss.

"I know, Teef. I know…" he loosely wraps his arm around me, half pulling me through the dilapidated kitchen, towards the stairs, adding: "some people are just more lost than others."

I look at him sharply. I wonder if he knows how that sounds coming from him.

_Maybe I should let this one go…_ _I have enough to deal with here…With Cloud. _I think to myself.

But somehow, I just can't.

_I couldn't stop her…the one I loved most…face the worst…Beautiful Lucrecia…Sephiroth's mother…That is my sin…_ The man's words rebound inside my mind.

_What do you have to atone for, Tifa? What are your sins?_ I wonder to myself.

Earlier I'd stood there, watching him as he replaced the lid to his coffin- his self-imposed atonement, self-imposed prison, and done nothing.

In fact, I think I had the gall to feel a little miffed; I mean, there we were, practically going to hand-deliver him his revenge- one crazed scientist who has this amazing ability to pop up no matter where we find ourselves- and he did nothing.

He told us to leave.

Slid the lid shut.

_What's wrong with him? _I'd thought, _we not good enough to join up with? Pasty asshole._

As if he somehow owed us for the invitation.

And I just couldn't let it go; I'd fought for him, tried to convince Cloud to go back and give it another chance, and even now I can't get him out of my head.

It's funny, this evening had started out so differently. Cloud asked me- _me,_ not Aerith, not anyone else, to come out into the town with him.

Here I thought that he and I would have the opportunity to reminisce, to get closer…maybe even have a chance to figure out what exactly is going on inside of that head of his.

But no, it wasn't a romantic interlude or even a nostalgic, hometown rediscovery- it was: "You remember the old mansion, right Tifa? I don't want to risk anyone else getting hurt; sometimes they just don't know what they're getting themselves into. And, besides, you have experience."

Right. Fine. Great. So what you really mean is that you didn't want to risk Aerith getting hurt when she inevitably encountered something she wasn't tough enough, or shiny, smiley, good-girl enough to repel.

But Tifa, well, she's not quite the good girl, is she? Too rough around the edges for that, too tough, too opinionated- too much.

And yet, still never quite enough.

So, we went there and back again.

Back to the hotel, to the group, to the chummy atmosphere, to the giggles- despite what we're facing, what we've faced.

Usually I can handle it; hell, sometimes I even join in- but not tonight. Tifa's Aerith and Cloud's Aerith are two separate people in my mind and I'd like to keep my Aerith as a friend and not a competitor for the moment.

And so, here I am. Again.

But maybe Cloud is right. Maybe some people can't be saved.

I kick the gravel that lines the walkway towards the mansion and decide.

No, maybe not everyone can be saved, but everyone deserves a second chance.

Cloud…he's almost possessed with his desire to find and destroy Sephiroth. There's something unnatural about it, something that's rejecting and ignoring the sacrifices that we have made and will have to make to achieve our goal.

It's almost as if the only thing that's important anymore is whether or not we find and kill Sephiroth- to end it, but the memories and feelings just don't add up and I can't help but feeling like Cloud is going to crash and burn before this is all said and done.

I purposefully make my way towards the entrance and bound my way quickly through the door and up the stairs.

I figure if I can just blast on in as quickly as possible, the less monsters that are likely to jump me, right? Right.

And it's going pretty good, if I don't say so myself; I almost make it half way out the exit at the bottom of the stairs before they strike.

Vampire Bats, lots of them.

Beady, fucking, little things- really give me the creeps, but it's nothing that I haven't handled before.

In fact, as children in Nibelheim, when truth or dare was played there was _always_ a dare that involved grabbing something from the old Shinra mansion and then getting out.

I'm lucky Zangan was always a strict karate sensei, so I never had much to worry about when it came to self defense- and I was one of his star students.

No, the only issue with the monsters inside of the mansion now was their tendency to attack in packs…as they had currently decided to do with me.

_Funny_, I consider between rapid kata combos,_ I wonder if the man in the coffin has been here this entire time. _

People always made up stories about a man haunting the Shinra mansion, but that goes without saying for any old building.

Maybe they were closer to the truth than they realized.

I'm a pretty grounded fighter, that is, I'm solid when it comes to the battlefield; not one for a lot of flair- aside from when things get hairy, but generally I find that keeping that ease of mobility and a fluid range of motion does wonder for my success rate.

So I'm holding my own pretty well, that is until one of the little flying shits decides to take a kamikaze dive towards my head- fangs out and ready to leave a nasty mark on my face.

I brace myself for the inevitably painful impact- until a shotgun blast blows it straight out of the air and the thing lands dead at my feet.

"I was certain I told you and your friend to leave," is all my savior says.

I stare over at him, a little dumbfounded.

_Maybe he really is just an asshole wallowing in self-pity, _I consider.

"Uh, thanks for having my back on that one; I'm Tifa, by the way," I mumble, deciding to ignore his rudeness.

He just stares at me, almost as if I've suddenly sprung a new limb out the middle of my forehead, before turning to walk back down the hallway, towards the coffin room.

"Hey!" I yell to his back.

He stops and stares at me again- it's kind of intense and I lose my train of thought rather quickly.

_What strange eyes…are they red? How expressive…_

He clears his throat to regain my attention, "Yes?" he asks, sounding impatient, like he has somewhere important to be that _isn't _a coffin in a dingy basement.

"Oh…" I stumble out, "Oh! Right…so you do leave the coffin then…?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He raises an eyebrow at me, so far up that it reaches into his bandana, "Only when little girls come looking for trouble they can't handle."

He starts to make his way back towards the room again.

"Well, I would have been fine; I didn't _really_ need your help. It was just more convenient for you to shoot it than for me to take a bat to the head."

"Indeed," he says over his shoulder, "perhaps next time I'll leave you to your own devices."

"Hey…Hey!" I say while jogging up along side him, "Do you always walk away in the middle of conversations?"

He stops and turns to face me then, gaze sharp, "Do you always barge in where you're not wanted, to talk to strange men who sleep in coffins… Tifa?"

My name, he draws it out- breath catching on the syllables, turning it into something dark…and yet strangely alluring.

_Oh…Oh shit._ Yeah, I really didn't think this one through, did I? I mean, what do I know about this guy, other than the fact that he apparently used to work for Shinra… our enemy? Great. Brilliant.

_Won't show him I'm concerned…Won't show him I'm getting scared…He's probably just being a bully to get me to leave, anyways._

I rise up tall in all my five foot four glory and stare him right in the eyes, all the while thinking: _They'll put on my tombstone: Here lies Tifa Lockhart: she wasn't too smart, but she went down fighting!_

"I lived and breathed this town as a child, Shinra Mansion included; you can't scare me;" I say it sharply, almost as if it's completely true.

The look in his eyes then is puzzling and far away, almost as if he's remembering something...but in a flash it's gone, replaced by something that's decidedly harder, more sinister.

"Is that so?" he says, while invading my personal space.

I can smell him now, the scent that's flowing off the fabric he hides behind- it's musty, old, almost as if he's absorbed the characteristics of the mansion he's come to belong to.

_Judging by that smell, _I think, in between trying to break into a strong defensive pose, _he's been here for quite some time…_

And then there it is again- emotions that seem to radiate from him- feelings of sadness, regret, guilt, of kinship almost - like I can understand why he'd feel the need to hide from the horrors of the world around him, the horrors that he watched happen, that he did nothing to stop.

But before I can entertain the thought further he's got me pressed into the cave-like walls of the basement_- He's fast…strong…and I'm in trouble._

I notice his gauntlet now, out of the corner of my eye. It's shiny and sharp looking; he must have had it hidden behind his cape before- _super observational skills, Tifa, _I berate myself.

His hands are strong on my shoulders, a firmer grip than I can break out of- almost super human, but the look he gives me is anything but; it's almost as if a monster is looking out at me from behind those dark eyes only being held in check by some thin threads of humanity.

Looks like our little group of misfits aren't the only ones who came away from the Shinra experience with scars.

"Little Tifa…" he almost growls out, leaning slowly into me, dark hair brushing against my cheek, "perhaps you do have reason to fear…"

Face along side mine now, I can almost see inside the cowl he hides behind. I can feel his breath tickle the hairs on my neck…

I've been intimidated before, threatened, but there's only one time before that I've believed it- known I was out of my league and that my life was being held in the balance.

Sephiroth lived and died with this town, took my father with him, and almost took me. Looking at this man, those old feelings of helplessness and terror begin to resurface.

I need to take control so I try for bravado; I'm not willing to finish this experience with more scars and heartache: "Oh yeah? Fear what? Some ghostly, dusty relic of the Shinra Mansion basement?"

My reply seems to startle him as he goes very still against me, hands frozen against my shoulders, breath caught in his lungs.

And then the tension releases and I can feel him laugh softly against my neck before he pulls back; judging from the crinkles beside his eyes, I'd guess he's almost smiling. The monster look is gone now, replaced with one that almost seems like resignation.

Whatever demon he was grappling with apparently had retreated back into its dark depths.

He gives me my space back, apparently deciding that I can't be frightened away. No, no. I'm much too stubborn to ever give up.

"What do you want?"

_Here's my chance; I have his full attention now. Better make it count._

"Does it go away?" I say softly, not able to match his gaze.

"Does what go away?" He says, retreating further back into the darkness of the hallway.

"The guilt. Does this 'atonement' make it go away?"

Now he's the one who can't meet my gaze; he seems uncomfortable with the question, but decides to humor me with an answer: "No."

"And us coming here will make it worse for you? The guilt, I mean." I pop the knuckles of my thumbs nervously.

"It is entirely probable."

"What if you could help us? I mean, a former Turk has to have some useful inside knowledge- and you have personal experience with Hojo. We could work towards a common goal?" I ask, hopefully.

"I still don't understand." He says quietly.

"What is there to understand? You come with us, help us fight, save the world, atone, and Bob's your uncle-everything works out?" I shrug at him, not completely following.

"No, not that. Why do you care, why did you come back?"

_Shit. _I'd kind of hoped that he'd just be dazzled by my wit and dedication and feel compelled to join us. My personal reasons are much more…well, personal!

I duck my head and softly scuff my boots into the dirty ground, "I need to believe that it's possible to atone for the sins we commit."

I look up again and catch his gaze, it seems incredulous; "What could someone as young as you have to atone for?"

I give him a half-grin, "More than you could know, but keeping silent seems to come to my mind most frequently, that and the lives that have been lost as a result of our actions."

He regards me then, almost as if seeing me, truly seeing _me_ and not the girl in the miniskirt and the short shirt, for the first time.

"Perhaps I am not alone in my guilt," he seems to consider.

"The only time we're alone," I say quietly, "is when we chose to be."

"I am not certain I believe that," he replies, gaze slowly turning towards the end of the hallway, towards the room with the coffins.

"Give us a chance to prove it to you," I suggest. I have to win this, win him over, have to believe that it's possible for anyone to start again and work towards something good- despite the bad they've experienced.

Despite the bad they've done.

Something flashes in his eyes then, something bright and meaningful and a small bubble of hope begins to build within my heart.

"Will we meet with Hojo?" he asks.

"Well, we're chasing Sephiroth and him, so I am sure that sooner or later…"

He nods sharply and takes a step towards the stairs, "I've decided to go with you and your group."

I stare at him blankly, almost as if I can't quite understand the words that just came out of his mouth.

"Wow…that was rather abrupt," I accidently say out loud.

He raises his eyebrow at me again.

Blushing furiously I add: "Well, it was. You were all 'Mr. Dark and Moody and get out of my housey'…erm…what is your name, by the way…" I trail off, obviously failing to impress.

"Vincent; I suppose we should be leaving," he suggests, ignoring my previous comments.

I huff to myself before stepping away from the wall and walking towards the stairs.

He's so silent behind me that I find myself feeling the need to turn around and see if he's still following. Deciding I've had enough of the dead silence, I try to engage in some light conversation: "So…why a coffin? Are you a vampire or something?"

He seems to choke a little at the comment, though I'm thinking it's a pretty damn valid thing to as- why else would anyone want to sleep in a coffin?

"Are you going to be this chatty the entire time I am with you and your group?" he asks, sounding annoyed.

I swivel my head to the side and carefully guide myself half-backwards up the stairs- so I can look at him in the eyes with my beady glare.

"Well, excuse me for trying to get to know you. Are _you_ going to avoid answering all my questions the entire time you are with _our_ group?" I say while expertly maneuvering myself upwards.

"Only if they continue to be ridiculous," he said.

"The only thing that's ridiculous here is a man who thought that sleeping in a coffin would absolve him of his sins- instead of, you know, going out and doing something about his problems," I say before I can catch myself, stopping abruptly on at the top of the stairs.

_Oh gods…Word vomit…just kept coming out- please don't eat me, please don't eat me pleasedon'teatme._

I slowly shift my body so I'm facing him, the horror evident on my face, but instead of the monster look I'm expecting, he almost looks…ashamed.

And now I feel terrible and compelled to make it right.

I step down a stair so I'm at his eyelevel, "Look Vincent…I didn't mean for that to all come out. It was wrong and I'm really in no position to judge how _anyone_ deals with their grief, especially concerning Shinra. And I have a tendency to be nosey in my pursuit to make everything and everyone happy, so please accept my apology," I say, extending my hand.

At first, he looks at it like he's not quite sure what to do with it, or like he's surprised I've made the effort to initiate bodily contact to show my remorse.

But then he extends his own and our hands meet. His hand…it's surprisingly warm and firm in my own: a nice, proper handshake.

_Aha! Too warm to be a vampire! _I unashamedly think to myself.

"It has been some time since I have been in the company of others…" he says as we make our way out of the kitchen, almost as if he's apologizing for his peculiarities.

"Oh, really? How long is that?" I say while dusting some errant cobwebs from my skirt.

_Gods- creepy, dirty, dusty, old mansion. _I gripe to myself.

"The better part of twenty years…" he admits.

"Whoa…you've been down there for almost longer than I've been alive…" I marvel to myself, "and no one thought to check for you until now?" I say, disbelieving.

"No," he replied stiffly.

"Oh," I say while avoiding a broken board in the staircase, "well, don't worry about it. Barret's constantly around people and he _still_ inventing new ways to offend, so I'm sure you'll fit in just fine."

"A load off my shoulders, to be sure," he remarks dryly and I turn towards him with a big grin.

"Oh my, only five minutes out and already a joke- I think this will work out just fine, Vinnie."

"Vincent. Vincent Valentine," he corrects me, apparently not _that _chummy-_yet_.

"Oh, well, do accept my humblest apologies, Mr. Valentine," I say, but I think I can see something close to a smile in his eyes.

I bounce a little as we're leaving the entrance and turn to walk backwards, facing him.

"Tifa Lockhart- Welcome to what remains of AVALANCHE," I grin.

He nods slightly at me, as if in thanks and I can't suppress the little hop in my step as we make our way towards the inn.

Maybe we can't fix every mistake we've ever made, but we can do our best to keep them from happening again- and help each other through the messes.

Somehow, I can't help but think this is a huge step forward-for both Vincent and me.

* * *

Thanks, as always, to the wonderful Fostersb for betaing! Just a little back story that I started- more to come eventually. Same universe as One Beat Away, just a little sooner. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading and hopefully reviewing! And I should have something new for OBA soon…SOON. Pinky swears.

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole 2011- Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_**


	2. Memory Serves

**ANGST ALERT!** **Bells! Whistles! Warning!** If you're not a fan, read no further! I swear it's got an upbeat ending; well, I think so, but I'm kind of morbid, so take that with a grain of salt.

* * *

_Tonight a special memory serves me_

_And I'll wait to find the wrong way_  
_Tonight a special memory serves me_  
_And I'll wait to find_

_It's over_  
_It's over_  
_What does it feel like, it feels like_  
_It's over_

_Why is it so hard to stay away?_

_Interpol, Memory Serves_

* * *

Memory serves the past and he knows it- knows it better than anyone, and yet he still can't quite banish the memories from his mind.

A blunt pain now, not sharp like before, just there- slowly ebbing and flowing within his mind as he remembers:

_Something almost like sadness flashes in her eyes- almost, but not quite. Her voice is soft, resigned: "I am with Hojo; that's just the way it is. There's nothing to be done about it, so don't bother trying..."_

…_And later-her skin tinged with a sickly pallor; she has to steady herself against the lab bench: "I'm pregnant, Vincent. With his child...his experiment. It's my life's ambition."_

…_Biting back his fear and anger, he watches as tears flow freely down her cheeks; she clutches at her unnaturally distended body: "I'm happy, so happy- you couldn't understand how happy I am..."_

…_Finally, with fierce determination- eyes practically glowing she declares: "I regret nothing."_

_Too dissimilar..._

_Too much..._

_Never enough..._

_Damaged..._

A great stretch; muscles popping, bones cracking, settling; a body that is ages old and yet retains still a young exterior- constant and ever unchanging.

Alone.

_Don't you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself? _A voice inside his head asks him, and he almost laughs.

It's more than that, much more than self-pity.

Everything that made him compassionate, sympathetic- human...had long since decayed and died.

All that remains now is the scientist they currently hunt and _her_ progeny.

All that remains are the dull feelings of regret, anger and lingering responsibility.

It's what he tells himself; repeated daily, hourly, to keep the memories at bay.

And yet...the girl.

He can sense her, _smell_ her, before she's even pokes her head up the ladder hole- her irrepressible aura preceding her entrance.

"You're hiding from us, again," she chides, but he can tell by the tone in her voice that what she really means is: "You're hiding from me, again," and he can't quite understand why she'd care enough to sound put out, why she'd care enough to seek him out.

"I know better," he replies, and he does- he knows she'll always find him, somehow; even when he's on the top of a mostly abandoned observatory, legs hanging off the edge of a dusty, decaying cliff.

And somehow it's both comforting and frustrating- how this girl is forcing him to feel, when it's so much easier to not.

It's been months now that they've been tracking Sephiroth, and still she seeks him out.

She crowds him, which she has a tendency to do, as she settles herself at the edge beside him- apparently Tifa was never instructed in the proper ways of social decorum and personal space.

And yet, he can't muster up the energy to feel indignant that someone would dare invade his solitude, not anymore.

She'd learnt to stop asking about what was bothering him after he'd ignored her question for the millionth time. Now, when she found him, they sat in mostly companionable silence, though evidently the same old same old wasn't in the cards for tonight.

"He's avoiding me, too," and he can hear the hollow ache resonating from within her.

_Kindred..._ a voice inside says..._Understands..._

The boy loved her in his own way- anyone could see that. But did he love her more than the Ancient? More than himself? As much as she deserved?

He didn't typically comfort others, so the shock registers on her face when he bothers to make the effort: "He..." Vincent starts softly, "...he has a lot on his mind," he offers.

And Tifa laughs- mostly a snort, really, but a laugh none the less.

It's odd, but somehow, some small part of him wants to hear that noise again- wants to be the cause of it.

"Don't we all?" Tifa says with a smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

The huge bonfire glows below them; they only notice it peripherally- the stars really steal the show at the top part of the canyon.

Tifa tilts her head back, her long hair scraping the dusty ground. Soft music flows up from below and the low beating of drums resonate around them. She closes her eyes and smiles to herself.

"Do you ever wonder whether or not we're doing the right thing...making the right choices?" She says, eyes still closed, body seemingly relaxed by the sounds of the night and the atmosphere of the little commune.

Vincent's gaze settles on the huge fire below, "All we can do is fight for a better future, regardless of the decisions we've made in the past."

She sighs softly at his response before stretching her spine up and back, arms reaching before her.

"You've been listening to Cloud," she chides, mid-stretch, "sometimes I think it's all gotten so far out of control that, even if we succeed, we'll still loose..."

With a start, Vincent looks at her sharply, but doesn't seem to see her...

And with a flash in his mind he's there again- that little coffee shop on the corner in Sector Seven; though only the Gods know why she insists on meeting in the slums.

_So no one will see..._ says his mind, _so no one will know._

But he dismisses the thought- he's too far gone for doubt, too much in love- and, really, she loves him too- it's just _the scientist_ she needs to be careful of.

He crosses the dirty streets and sees her through the dingy window, though somehow she manages to glow through the din, as she always does.

_So much a part of this city and yet not tainted by it... _He admires her beauty- long, dark hair; slight, yet feminine physique; beautiful eyes...

He makes his way through the entrance and the little bell on the door jingles; the manager greets him from behind the counter- knows Vincent by name, though he's never bothered to remember his.

He gestures in greeting at the man before walking towards her- smiling almost shyly to himself, though from the moment he sees her eyes he knows something has changed.

He sits in the booth- their booth, and she's already ordered him his coffee.

The conversation passes by in a blur- indistinct and unintelligible, but he gets the gist of it: it's over- can't be with a Turk, can't be with him.

She's chosen the experiment- her work, over him.

"I can't stop now, Vincent," she says softly, though her eyes are hardened with determination, as if she's recited this conversation so many times now it's memorised.

"You of all people should know how important this experiment is to me...to the world," she casts her eyes downward, "I've decided to become a part of it, Vincent. You have to understand: this is my dream."

But his body is numb; his mouth can't seem to get the words out- he wants to shout, to rage, to anything... but nothing except a soft: "I love you," is ever uttered.

"Vincent," she says firmly, flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder, "this was never about love; I thought, as a Turk, you would understand that."

She turns her gaze towards the window and fixates on something beyond, something neither of them can see but both will soon experience- a future of their own making: "Sometimes I think it's all gotten so far out of control that, even if we succeed, we'll still loose...but I have to continue for the sake of the experiment- for the sake of what the world could gain."

And she left.

And he let her.

It was the last time he was ever truly alone with her- without a Shinra guard outside the door, or a maniac monster in the next room.

Until that final time in Nibelheim.

Looking back on it now, there was so much he should have said, should have done, but now all that remained was the memory- the regret.

"Vincent..." a voice foggily registers in his mind, "Vincent..." accompanied with a soft jab to the ribs.

Sharply Vincent lashes out, trapping the hand firmly against his chest, pulling the body attached to the hand near.

A small squeak of surprise comes from the woman before him; though he can't quite remember whether or not he should be concerned...there was something he was supposed to do here...

Looking down on the small, dark head currently mashed against his shoulder, Vincent realises his mistake.

This body isn't hers.

Too strong.

Too sacrificing.

Constantly prodding.

Determined.

"Uh...Vincent?" Tifa says while trying to disentangle herself from his grasp.

"Tifa..." he mutters groggily, "Tifa."

"Yes..." she says, leaning back to sit on her own again, "Me Tifa...You Vincent?"

He chokes out a laugh, but it sounds more like a sigh, "I apologize..."

"I understand," she says, shrugging softly, "sometimes the memories catch up with me, too."

"Oh..." he says, not quite meaning to make it an invitation for her to open up, but she takes it as such.

"Yeah. The town, my dad, my brush with Sephiroth..." she visibly shivers as the words pass through her mouth.

"Sometimes they just don't want to stay put," Tifa says while curling her knees into her chest, "no matter how much I try to keep them there."

Turning slightly, Tifa cocks her head at Vincent, a twinkle in her eye, "What did you want to be when you grew up, Vincent?"

Staring upwards once again, he breathes out softly before answering: "A garbage man."

And Tifa laughs, but not like before; this is an honest, full body laugh. It's a while before she can contain herself and by that time she's sprawled out in the dust, hair and limbs akimbo.

"Oh, Vincent," she says between breaths, "I think that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard you say."

Struggling hard to maintain composure, she slowly lifts herself back up, dusting her body off.

"So...Why a garbage man?" she says, not quite keeping the laughter from her voice.

"It looked like fun," he says simply.

"Picking up garbage?" she asks, disbelieving.

"No, riding on the back of the truck- jumping off and on...I thought it might be exciting," he says almost defensively.

"Oh..." she says with a grin, "that makes more sense."

"And you?" he questions, hopefully removing the attention from himself.

"A butterfly," she says wistfully.

"A butterfly?" he asks confused, "how?"

Tifa shrugs slightly, "No one bothered to tell me you can't grow up to be anything other than human; so I just assumed if I tried hard enough, I'd get to grow up and be a beautiful, graceful butterfly; silly what kids believe, huh?"

Vincent shrugs back at her, "Not any more silly than what I wanted as a child; you just seemed to have a more vivid imagination."

"Funny how life turns out, isn't it? I got the 'float like a butterfly' part and the 'sting like a bee,' but I missed out on the beautiful and graceful part," she says while stretching her legs out.

Vincent looked at her, confused, "I don't quite understand, but you're more than graceful and I don't think you need to worry about the beauty, either," he replied honestly.

"Why, Vincent Valentine; did you just complement me?" She teases.

"Weren't you fishing, Tifa Lockhart?" he shot back, eyebrow raised.

Tifa's laughter runs out loud and clear over the top of the music, "Oh Gods, a complement _and_ a joke within thirty seconds of each other- have you been smoking from Bugenhagen's peace pipe, Vincent?"

"Would you prefer the typical companionable silence?" he says, feigning disinterest.

"No, no. Though I enjoy both, tonight I prefer the conversation."

And, strangely, he had to agree.

Though he would never admit it to her.

"But you see..." she says, evidently she'd had a point to the whole childhood conversation, "they're not all bad."

"What? Memories?"

"Yeah...as much as I'd like to hide from them, there are some that I will cherish forever. Don't forget those ones, Vincent," she says softly rubbing at her arms and legs.

The night had chilled significantly with the loss of the sun- deserts weren't known for keeping their heat.

Vincent stands abruptly, causing Tifa to sputter and flail wildly from the ground: "I didn't mean to offend you! You don't have to leave!"

Rolling his eyes at her, Vincent continued to stand beside her while disengaging the buckles at his neck, "The cold doesn't affect me as it does you," he said, while draping his cape over her.

Tifa's mouth opened and closed with shock at his gesture, "Oh...Thank you...Quite the gentleman; aren't you, Vincent?"

What was it about this night? This place? Seeming to trigger old, painful, best forgotten memories... Vincent shook his head at Tifa's comment.

_They lay together._

_Tangled, sweat-dampened, breaths mingling- he couldn't help but notice a slight shudder run through her body._

"_Cold?" He asks._

"_Half of me, anyways," she says with a smile._

_Reluctantly disentangling himself, he dragged the covers up from the bottom of the bed- where they'd been kicked._

_Wrapping them tightly around her, he curled back into her embrace._

"_Quite the gentleman; aren't you, Vincent?" she teased._

_For her- he'd be anything._

"Hnn..." he says with a soft grunt, "I used to be. Didn't get me very far."

"Oh?" Tifa asks, watching Vincent reseat himself beside her, "Nice guys finish last?"

"Nice guys finish dead...or worse."

"Hnn..." she mimics, "and yet, for some reason, girls always seem to go for the bad boys. In my case, I guess it was a thing for long hair- but even that's cut and gone now..."

"Why do you still hang on?" he asks, because he for some reason, genuinely wanted to know- how could someone like _her _be hung up on someone like..._Cloud._

"Why do I what? Hope? Same damn reason you're still hung up on her- I have to believe it wasn't all a waste."

"Her...?" Vincent barely manages to croak out, "what makes you think I'm still hanging on to anyone?"

"Oh, you mean aside from the whole: 'I must repent for my sins against the beautiful Lucrecia' when we first met you?" Tifa says, dropping her voice into a poor facsimile of Vincent's.

She laughs at his frown, "I figured it out for myself; you're not as hard to read as you like to think you are."

"Hnn," he says.

"Hnn," she replies, "couldn't just be revenge driving you, could it? No, there's more to it and that usually means some sort of love type thing- of the unrequited variety."

"She used me," he says simply.

"We're using you," she returns.

"You? No, not you- Cloud, but I'm a willing participant this time," he says, for some reason clearing Tifa of her share of the blame.

"And you weren't with her?" she wonders.

"To know her, was to love her," he fumbles with the edges of his gauntlet, as if the words make him feel uncomfortable.

Tifa faces him then, leans in and covers his gun hand with hers, and tenderly says: "Cut the bullshit, Vincent."

His eyes flash red and he glares at her.

"And Cloud?" he asks, trying to goad her into the same sort of emotional response she seemed to be trying to elicit from him.

"I know what I'm getting myself into and maybe, one day, I'll get myself out of it. But right now..." she trails off softly.

"It's better this way," he answers for her.

"Yes, Cloud needs me- more than I need him. Maybe one day it'll even out- be the way it should be, but if not, at least I know I was in it for the right reasons."

"She never loved me," he says softly, though there's no real emotion in his words- just the truth.

"Believe me, Vincent-it's her loss," Tifa says while softly squeezing the hand under her own.

"Didn't feel that way then...still doesn't feel that way now."

Tifa smiles at Vincent, comfortingly, "It won't always be this way."

"You know this for a fact, do you?" he says, raising an eyebrow at her- challenging her words.

"I have faith," she says, grinning at him, "come on, it's getting too cold for even _your_ cloak to keep me warm- the bonfire's gotten huge now, anyways."

She offers him her hand and he takes it.

He'd walked like this before, with _her_. Though it never felt quite so comfortable as it did now.

She was special, this girl- different.

She cared; even if it wasn't in her best interest.

She was loyal; even if that loyalty wasn't returned.

She was naive; but she knew, as much as others took advantage of it, she knew and still loved them despite it.

She was...is a friend. _When did that change?_ He wondered.

They'd been hesitant allies, comrades, acquaintances and now...

He realised he'd do anything to protect this...frail friendship as it was.

Do anything to protect her.

Somehow, along the way, it had all changed.

He almost smiles at her as she hands him his cloak, before making her way down the long ladder.

Vincent replaces it on his body- it's warm and smells of vanilla- of Tifa.

She wasn't Lucrecia and, surprisingly, he found he didn't want her to be.

"Come on, Vincent!" she yells up from the bottom of the ladder, "Let's go- Yuffie's going to eat all the marshmallows."

He laughs softly at her comment and makes his way down to her, makes his way down _for_ her.

Sometimes, all that's needed is a friend to help along the way.

Or prod incessantly till there's no choice but to relent.

And as the flames flicker and her eyes inevitably dart towards where Aerith and Cloud are cuddled together, Vincent promises-_ I will be your friend, as you have been mine. And one day...it won't hurt so much as it does now._

_I will make it so._

* * *

_a/n: oooooooooookay. So, I know it's not what most of you have been prodding me for [thank you :)], but I have to get back into the swing of things. A pretty busy winter with two jobs and a lot of overtime was killer on the imagination, but I'm at it! I swear._

_And hoooo- I must have been in a moody mood when I started this._

_**Unbeta'd**, except for by me, so please excuse any mistakes (hell, do that anyways- god knows, I make them); I did my best to weed them out, but I really just felt like getting something up and going here._

_**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole 2012- Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**_


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